


ive been told i redefine a sin

by Nimravidae



Series: Oh Lord, Heaven Knows [1]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Bondage, Demon!George, Demon!Verse, Demonic Possession, Dubious Morality, From a prompt, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Pacts With Demons, Possession, Ritual Sex, Slightly Dubious Consent (Refer to Authors Note), Tentacle Demon, Tentacle Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 22:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11450565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/pseuds/Nimravidae
Summary: Benjamin Tallmadge made a pact with a Demon the day he nearly died in the Delaware River. It possessed his failing commander, and they must secure their agreement in order to save the army and her cause.





	ive been told i redefine a sin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wellreadfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellreadfan/gifts).



> So in this Iteration:  
> A: Read the tags. I'm not responsible for you failing to do so.  
> B: For all intents and purposes with this, if you were to follow show time-line, the Washington we see in the show is the Demon. The original Washington is dead and this Demon possessed his body instead. I didn't tag it for possession sex since the OG Washington is dead, but whatever.  
> C: For Consent. I tagged this Dubious, given the manipulative nature of Demons and the fact that Washington is capable of altering Benjamin's thoughts and physical desires. It is up to personal interpretation, however, to what extent that is done.

Washington had not touched him as such before. Yes they had engaged in activities that marred the line between laws and desire.  _ Although _ , he thinks bitterly to himself, they had already once transgressed the bounds of moral law in ways that he knows his soul could never recoup. Should his father know he made pacts with demons to save himself and win this war, he would never forgive him.

Should his father know he allowed this demon unfettered access to his body, the cost would be unimaginable. 

But his father does not know. No one, but himself and a very select, very understanding, few knew what occurred. When a General, failing them all, was too weak to resist possession by forces unknown to himself, when Ben, in a moment of fear and desperation, was called to by this mass of stinking death and fear. When he accepted the trade of his body and soul in exchange for a promise, to win the war and return him back to life, when he first saw the unearthly darkness flicker in General Washington’s eyes. When he was first told the truth, that Washington was gone forever, and this thing in his body wore him like a puppet.

_ Call me his name,  _ it whispered,  _ for your human tongue could never know mine.  _

No one else knew, no one else knows. 

Washington’s puppeteer, the thing inside him he calls Washington, touches him. At first, he said, it was to prove Benjamin’s loyalty. To know he wouldn’t startle or dart away when a tongue, forked and smart, presses past his lips in a kiss so far unlike the ones snuck behind barns and taverns in his youth. At first, it was a test, letting Benjamin grind against a sturdy thigh, pushing him to the ground and making him swallow the length of the General’s cock, far back into his throat until tears sprung to his eyes at the strain. 

At first it was a test. After that, it was simply addiction. Physical pleasure hadn’t been something he’d been permitted in life before this, and Washington was so kind as to give it to him. He was not a selfish lover, Ben found. When he found his release, sticky and hot, sprayed across Ben’s cheek and lips, he curled fingers with unusually sharp nails beneath his jaw, prying his face up so that he may bend and kiss him while snaking another hand into his breeches to pull him off. 

He even gave him his mouth, when he’d done something particularly wonderful or smart on the battlefield. And Ben learned, through such genuine accident and embarrassment, that Demons do not require breath to survive. Nor, he learned, can they gag on the most awkward and carnal of thrusts. He’d locked eyes with him, that supernatural yoke around Ben’s throat flexing enough that Ben was physically incapable of tearing his eyes away as Washington’s tongue flicked out to catch a stray droplet of his seed. He could not even force his muscles to allow him to blink before Washington sealed his lips and swallowed, throat working and eyes half-lidded. 

Yes, they had done all but one thing. Completing the ritual, as Washington so elegantly put it. It was only to be done in a particular of manors, something to give Washington his final grasping hold on the human world. To bond him to Ben’s soul permanently and unbreakably. He explained it for hours into the night on evening, staring intently at the flames flickering in the hearth. Should he complete the bonding, not only will Ben’s soul be forever indebted to him, but George’s own mangled existence is sealed to Ben’s. To complete the ritual, a signing of contracts, would mean that until his side of the deal was complete, George could never return to the plane from which he came.

“That includes,” George had sighed, and the flames jumped higher and flickered brighter, “your payment on the mortal plane. I will be bound to you until your death, once we complete the ritual.”

Ben was silent. Washington asked, still staring at the flames, “Do you regret accepting my call?”

The answer did not require a moment of thought. Ben pressed the length of his body against Washington’s back, cheek between his shoulderblades. “How quickly can we complete our ritual?”

It took night's, weeks even, until the first New Moon could herald in the proper environment for a ritual of such nature. Washington was vague, of the implications of how. He only gave Benjamin instructions to meet him in his private quarters, at a very particular time. He did not tell him to bring anything, or prepare himself in any such ways than to otherwise simply be there. 

So he was there, precisely five minutes early and incredibly nervous. Washington anticipated this, as he anticipates everything of Benjamin’s. He is waiting, in the room, with two glasses of Madeira. “Punctual as ever, Major,” he says, handing him one and sipping from the other. He does not feel the effects of alcohol, Ben knows because he told him. But Ben still finds the gesture of him doing so almost comforting. 

His own hand trembles as he brings the glass to his lips. “I would not wish to keep you waiting, General. It is unbecoming of me to do so.” Ben drinks deeply from it, only to find it hardly lowered in level once he looks back at it. “May I be permitted to speak freely, your Excellency.”

“Of course.”

“I wish to know why you have been so reticent with this mysterious ritual, sir. I have many questions that I fear you will not answer, and I wish to know what will be done to me to bond us together eternally.” 

Washington is quiet, for a stretch of time so long that Ben believes he has horrendously misspoke. But, before he could dare apologize, Washington speaks once more. “Ask me what you wish, Benjamin.”

“Must I die for this to work?” It was not entirely what he intended to ask, but it was as though someone sifted through all his smaller worries and pinpointed exactly the worst he could imagine. The nagging fear that underlined everything else he could have considered.

Washington answers, stiffly, “No. Should any grievous bodily harm come to you, ever, it would mean I have negated on our promise.”

He abandons his wine to step towards the stiff-backed and stern man before him. “Then what do you fear? You have never been so withdrawn regarding matters of your kind and our pact before--”

He is interrupted before anything else can slip, unbidden, from his lips. “You are you interact and see my form at the truest you can view. Your mortal eyes are unable see my true form in its entirety, but I am to mutilate this flesh show you what I am. You will never be able to forget what you will see, Benjamin. If solidifying this pact meant simply taking your final essence of purity to bind us I would have no issue in bedding you the first New Moon following our agreement. However, it does not. You are to be touched by my true form. You will never forget such an encounter.” He punctuates his snapping rant with a sharp slam of his glass against a desk. Benjamin, despite himself, jumps at the sound.

Teeth catch his lip to worry it. He knew this was not Washington’s form, just as he knew that he did not speak to Washington. He spoke to the thing inside him, he spoke to the inky mass that shoved itself into his limbs and controlled every part of him. Replacing the living soul with a fragment of something else. A Demon.

“Is that all, your Excellency?” He finds himself asking. He intended his voice to be sure and smart, but it is quiet in a fashion he does not quite think of as his own. But he also knows there is no undue influence over it. He can feel it, this time. “You fear I will look upon you the same way?”

“You will not.” 

“Even if that may be, you say this means will we be bound until my death.”

“We shall.”

Washington is not looking upon him, his back remains stubbornly to him and his eyes somewhere in the distance. Benjamin no longer trembles as he begins the processes of unbuttoning his waistcoat. Washington, however, does not need eyes to see him. He does not need to view him to know what he is doing, this Benjamin knows. This Benjamin has known for so long.

He strips his jacket and folds it over the back of a nearby chair. “What are you doing,” Washington asks.

“Unburdening myself, sir. I believe I made myself clear that despite the uncertainties you may have, I want this. Whatever it entails.” 

It appears to be enough for Washington as his shoulders raise and fall in a long, quiet, sigh before turning to face him. “Lay upon the bed. I shall handle your garments.”

And Benjamin does as he is told. He kicks his boots off for ease but lays out, in his half-buttoned waistcoat and shirt, his breeches and stockings still in place. He rests his head on the pillows, not even bothering to remove his queue yet, and waits. And watches. Across the room, Washington slowly crosses over to him. The bed dips under his weight as he rests a knee on it. “It is a curious thing,” he mumbles, “that I am given you.”

“It was I who was given you,” He replies, with the same sort of softened anticipation that rises whenever Washington is so near. The other man makes a noise, in the back of his throat, before fully crawling over him. His hand slips beneath Benjamin’s head, and he raises it to allow him, to pull at the ribbon in his hair. His fingers are deceptive in their gentleness as he threads them through the strands, carefully working the plait apart before he can cradle the back of his head and pull him into a kiss.

Washington never appears demonic in nature, but Benjamin can feel it so often. An unnatural sharpness to his teeth when they kiss, the flick of a forked tongue against his lips when Washington’s always appears to be normal. He yields to it, as he always does, however, parting his lips with a content sigh and letting him chase the taste of wine off Benjamin’s own tongue. 

They embrace like this, languidly, for a time. Until Benjamin shivers and shifts and realizes that the fabric against his back is so much more pronounced than it had once been. The same moment he notices, a hand, warmer than a body should ever been, finds the bare skin of his side. 

They part and Benjamin blinks down, only mildly surprised to find them both so totally nude. On the other side of the room, his uniform is folded neater than he had left it. Thus far, Washington looks no different than ever. He has the same pale skin, the same auburn and ash hair on his chest, the same scars and pockmarks and freckles. He looks so uniformly the same, and Benjamin knows that this is the last time he can pretend that this is truly him.

Washington’s lips brush the shell of his ear as he leans down to whisper, “Close your eyes again, my dear. Do not open them before I permit you.” 

For the first time, he is truly afraid. Swallowing the thickness of his throat, and complies. Washington’s hand leaves his hair and his lips ghost a kiss against his cheek. Benjamin feels it, even if he cannot see it. He cannot explain the sensation of air shifting when there is no wind. Of knowing that just beyond his tightly-squeezed eyes that there is something occurring that he cannot hear or comprehend. It feels like a shimmer, like a shift, and for a moment he almost wishes to peek at the change occurring but at the same moment he considers it every nerve ending in his body screams not to. 

The muscles lock and tense, forbidding himself from looking at something that his body knows more than his mind that he is  _ not  _ to see. It lasts and last and lasts until finally a voice, both different and familiar says, “Look upon me.”

His body betrays him and holds his eyes tightly shut for another moment or two longer, as his breath comes in ragged, sharp breaths. He forces them to open, however, settled between his legs and hovering above him is Washington. Only, it is not quite him. At his base, it is the same body. The same shame of a wide chest and strong shoulders. The same features of his face, the same strong jaw, the same lovely lips.

The differences, however, were in everything else. Massive, black, leathery, wings sit settled against his back, fluttering occasionally. The space where they connect to his back was stained a dark, inky, color, as though the color leached from the appendages to his flesh. The same went for the ridged horns that twisted back from his head. They were tipped with red where they curled to points behind his ears and appear to be incredibly rough in texture. Ben reaches out on instinct, and Washington nearly recoils. Except, after a lingering moment, he simply ducks his head. They are hard and unyielding and very much like those of the goats Benjamin used to taunt on farms as a child. He thumbs the closest ridge to Washington’s head, then allows his fingers to touch the discolored flesh. 

It’s rougher, almost like callouses, but not unpleasant. 

Washington shifts, slightly, and rests a hand on Benjamin’s thigh, allowing him to see for the first time the extent of his claws. Long, pointed nails jutt from his blackened fingers, they look almost reptilian, in a way, but as he drinks in the sight it is not unpleasant. At least not entirely. It is different.

Different. 

The most shocking thing, the one thing that Benjamin did not wish to reach out and grasp at first, were the tentacles. They attached near the base of his wings and down his back and sides. A deep blue, they writhed together to appear nearly black in nature. The thickest appeared to be the width of his arm, while the thinnest smaller than his fingers. He threaded his fingers through Washington’s hair as he watched them twist and stretch out. 

He could not resist the twitch away the first time one brushed beneath his knee. 

“Touch them,” Washington whispered, in that voice so different and the same. “If you wish. They are what will be inside you. They are what will claim your final shred of innocence.” 

Oh, is all he can think in the moment. Oh. Another tendril curled down towards his thigh, and this time he remained perfectly still in allowing it to curl beneath his leg and press it’s tapered tip against it. It’s cool, almost, and smooth in a way that Benjamin had not encountered before. Like water and air and yet somehow more solid than both. It slithers against him and he swallows the confusion and confliction. “They will not hurt you,” Washington tells him, clawed hand finding its way back to Benjamin's hair, “for they are part of me.”

They are part of him, he echoes in his own mind. They are part of him. They are part of him. Steeling his nerves, he allows himself to be pulled into another kiss, body sliding down the bed and eyes screwing shut. Another falls upon him, and then another. Until there are four, one at each of his thighs, and seconds at his knees, gently urging his legs apart with their strangely flexing strength. 

He resists at first, but they strengthen to steel and he yields, as he does to Washington.  _ Because they are apart of him,  _ he reminds himself. They mean him no harm, they are only an extension of his lover as is the tongue that parts his lips and the hand that guides him deeper. 

The word  _ relax  _ echoes in his mind in Washington’s voice, as he negates the need for words with the impressions of them directly into Benjamin’s mind.  _ Relax,  _ it repeats,  _ let them please you.  _

He does not relax, especially not when one sly and strangely slick tendril creeps its way up the inside of this thigh to flick gently over his exposed hole. He finds himself tensing quickly, straining against the iron bands that pry his legs apart. It is only for a moment, until the tentacle retreats and he can once again adjust to their grip.  

Washington breaks their kiss first, dragging his lips back to Benjamin's throat. “You must accept them, my dear, sweet mortal, for this ritual to complete.” 

It takes a moment for him to consider opening his eyes. The dark flesh of the tentacles contrast sharply with the milky skin of his thighs. They shift and slide along him, and more find the sheets around him, poised as though waiting for permission to grapple with his body and hold onto him tightly. Tentatively, he reaches his fingers to one. It meets him in the middle, allowing him the permission to stroke along the strangeness of it and feel the both smoothness and slickness at once. He strokes it, with a feather-like touch, and Washington makes a noise above him.

Benjamin drags his eyes to him seeing a look twisting across his features. It’s the same one that occurs when Benjamin touches his cock, the same one from when he teases him. 

“This pleases you,” he says, matter of fact. 

“It does. They are used for mating, they as sensitive as any organ you mortals use.”

Ah. He touches it firmer then, and sure enough it elicits the same response that Benjamin is so fond of. Toying with the tip earns him a hiss of pleasure. After a while of this apparent pleasure-torture, the same tentacle as before, though perhaps it could be a new one Benjamin had not been keeping score, presses against him again. This time he does not flinch from it. Instead, he carefully unwinds the coiled tension and allows it to stroke at the sensitive flesh of his hole. 

He’s never been touched as such before. Not even by Washington, who deemed the area too important to the ritual to taint beforehand. Now, it is pleasurable but in a way that still leaves him tentative and unsure. Perhaps it is only the nature of the strange things that grope him now. Another tendril finds his hip, slinking over it to stroke along his sensitive and swollen cock. 

Let them please you, Washington had said. And so Benjamin will. He continues to stroke the one in his hand, allowing it to slide between his fingers and wrap ‘round his wrist in a gesture the the supposes is comforting. His thumb pets it, as Washington's wings ripple behind him in a rare show of pleasure. Slowly, the wriggling thing between his legs becomes less and less foreign and more and more capable of sending shivers racing down his body.

Gooseflesh raises when it presses a little more insistently, the sticky-slick fluid it secretes making it easier with each pass. He sucks in a breath that trembles when it no longer slides its length along his hole but instead teases the tapered tip against him. Washington’s hands are never still. They trail down his body, toying at his nipples until he muffles moans into the pillows and pulling him for filthier and deeper kisses until he’s breathless and dizzy on the heady pleasure he’s given. Until he’s so succumbed to the concept of bedding this demon again that everything else has gone hazy and distant, until he feels the pointed tip press past his slickened hole.

He tenses around it, but Washington’s hand strokes the spaces of his flank not overrun by tentacles. “I’ve got you,” he purrs, kiss-slick lips against his neck. “Let me into you, let me feel your beautiful body. Turn over this last piece of yourself to me, let us be bonded.” 

How could he dare so no to such a thing? The tentacles that control his legs shift and tighten and pull them up a little more, moving him back down the bed as one of the thicker ones slithers down around the small of his back. It presses deeper, flexing slightly inside him and Benjamin feels a seizing in his chest unlike any other. “Hush, now,” Washington says, some comfort laced in his tone. “I’ve got you.” 

The tentacles that surround him squeeze in a way that Benjamin had never previously considered reassuring. And yet, it was. His rapid-fire pulse slowed to something more acceptable and less frightening as the tentacle inside him withdrew, and then pushed deeper yet again. And then again, and then again, until Benjamin could feel the faint burn of his hole to accommodate the widening thing. He pants, heavily, into Washington’s ear. His fingers scramble, sweaty, against his back looking for something to hold to before they bump into the joint of his wing. 

“May I?” He whimpers.

“Please, do.”

His fingers wrap loosely around the firm thing, using them as grips to urge Washington closer to him, closer as the tentacle stretches him more and deeper and more and deeper. He’s never been filled before and yet, he knows he wants more. He knows there is something beyond this teasing sensation. He craves more of the burn and the stretch, and his lips move to plead for something, something. Anything. Anything becomes everything as the tendril retreats and Benjamin whines for it once more. 

Another replaces it, but one that is bigger in nature. Not the thickest of Washington’s appendages, but more than the previous. It presses into him, just as the other did and this one, this one is sweeter than anything he could have imagined. He forsakes his previous anxieties in favor of a wrecked and devastated moan that tears itself from his throat as the smart thing inside him finds a place that does nothing but sets his nerves alight with the most agonizing of pleasures. It assails the place, the twisting stretching him out more and the thing inside him spreads him perfectly. 

It’s what he’s needed that he did not know, it’s what he’s wanted that he did not know. He is alive and ascended on the plane of the pleasure allotted to him by his Demon. His Demon. The words are strange in his mind but they rattle and he cannot let them go.

His Demon.

His Demon. The tentacle around his cock flexes and intensifies, as does the one inside him in its repeated thrusting and twitching. His Demon. It stiffens inside him and the one around him clenches his cock so sweetly, stroking until he’s arching and gasping and coating it in his seed. It milks it from him, drop after drop until he’s pleading into Washington’s collar, “I cannot, I cannot take another--please, God, please.”

There is a hot sigh against him, a chuckle. “God cannot hear you now, my love.” 

It touches him again, and he finds himself tensing more than ever, and the wetness inside him grows greatly as the tentacle seizes inside him, filling him properly with his seed. “You are mine, for now and always,” Washington whispers, some layer beneath his voice sounding like the crackle of flames, but the adrenaline is already starting to fade and Benjamin is far too tired to think.

The grasping things clinging at him leave him all at once, and his hands are no longer holding onto the joints of wings, instead they dig into bare, human, flesh. When his eyes focus again, he sees Washington above him. 

“Always,” he echoes to him, some distant throb in his body so wonderfully blocked on his behalf. The tentacle that gripped his hand is gone, and instead, Washington threads his fingers around it. 

“And forever.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://tooeasilyconsidered.tumblr.com/), taking prompts and making them entirely too long.


End file.
